Lost

Lost your compass

on the way home

forgot which way

led to the center. 

                —Lorena Wolfman

When the turning has begun

When the turning has begun

and it is no longer Spring 

When the glory of Summer has ended

and the earths gyre is felt,

when the air has cooled

where do we find sustenance?

When our bodies

are not sung by the birds 

who have moved

onward with the sun,

Who sings for us then?

The trees pause in their search

no longer pressing forth new leaves,

where does life take shelter?

                          —Lorena Wolfman

Cuando se ha iniciado el giro

y ya no es primavera

cuando la gloria del verano ha terminado

y la vuelta de la tierra se siente,

cuando el aire se ha enfriado

a dónde buscamos el sustento?

Cuando los pájaros

que se ido siguiendo el sol

ya no cantan nuestros cuerpos,

quién nos canta entonces?

Los árboles pausan su búsqueda

y ya no sacan nuevas hojas

a dónde se anida la vida?

                  —Lorena Wolfman

 

Abbey Road

Abbey Road by the Beatles was released on September 26, 1969. I remember it well! It had been a long summer in a rented house near Arroyo Seco on the rim road, outside of Taos, New Mexico... It was one of my mother's records that I listened to again and again along with Rubber Soul (1965) and Sargeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band (1967) and Yellow Submarine (1969), Alice's Restaurant (1969), Let it Bleed (1969), Calypso (1956)... I sang and danced in the long sloping golden light of the afternoon upstairs in a wooden house with large windows... This wasn't that long after we left Mexico, catapulted by events of the worldwide unrest of 1968. Mexico's version ending tragically in the massacre of Tlateloco. But by the age of 6 these moves and upheavals were normal fare, a backdrop to a childhood that was already marked by comings and goings between countries, regions, languages, civil rights protests, the death of a president, but much more importantly for me the death of a bird I that with the help of Martha, the maid, we had trapped, and the abandoment of my dog at the Mexico City Pound, those losses struck the bone.

Recuerdos de Tokio

 Esta tarde la foto del doble arcoiris sobre Tokio de mi amigo  Pablo J. Rico dió pie a mis propios recuerdos:

Mis recuerdos de Tokio son subterráneos, al separarme de mis compañeras de viaje en los bien iluminados corredores bajo la tierra de la estación de trenes, corrí de planta en planta, tratando de llegar a tiempo al shinkansen con destino a Kioto, sin ni siquiera una palabra de Japonés, fui mostrando mi boleto cifrado en kanji a desconocidos fortuitos que recibían mi apurada perplejidad con generosidad... luego, me acuerdo del chirrido platinado de las rieles que se extendían por lo que me pareció una eternidad, llegando a Kioto bien entrada la noche, nuevamente a mostrar el volantín de un Riokan donde tenía reservado una habitación... después de unos tropiezos, finalmente fue por la generosidad oficiosa de un cliente de una barra de saki en donde había asomado la cabeza con gestos de perplejidad urgida mostrando la hoja con el nombre del Riokan que llegué a mi destino con pocas palabras (sólo intentos a pronunciar algunas que no hallaban su lugar en mi lengua: "shinkansen" "riokan")... y luego, tres días en silencio, recorriendo la ciudad a pie orientándome en el espacio con la planta de los pies y la luz, dando con jardines y templos, el bosque de bambú, y una ceremonia Shinto todo por la serendipia nacida del silencio. Dando con las austera elegancia de una estética que no pide más y que sin embargo me envolvía en una nube de sutil perfume. El tercer y último día, habiendo encontrado mi orientación, alquilé una bicicleta (color mostaza) a señas, disfruté las amplias veredas donde cabían transeúntes a pie a igual que en bici y me atreví a abrir mucho más mi rango de exploración, llegando a nuevos templos con otros jardines, dejando la la bici afuera en cada lugar, sin llave, como lo hacían todos... siempre pasé un momento de mis tardes, a veces de la mañana paseando por la estación de trenes, donde una música celestial (piensa Kitaro) tocaba con una tonalidad para la mañana y otra para la tarde... el rito de visitar la estación de trenes era como no perder de vista la puerta por donde había entrado a este mundo y por donde saldría... la tercera noche nuevamente pisé el tatami descalza disfrutando a sorbos su textura fresca, abriendo mi futón por la última vez... Y el cuarto día, muy temprano, partí para Tokio, en contraste con el viaje de ida que había parecido eterno, rápidamente llegué al complejo subterráneo de la estación de trenes, pasando de planta en planta para llegar al andén para el aeropuerto —ahora pude descifrar el letrero por la forma de los caracteres que correspondían a los de mi boleto— donde me reuniría con mis compañeras filipinas con las cuales había visitado su país de origen antes de nuestra larga escala en Japón.

Texto: Lorena Wolfman

Foto:  Pablo J. Rico

Entering the uncompromising

Entering the uncompromising

mystery of pain

is never the same twice.

With a prayer on a thin breath

I look for the way in,

the invisible doorway.

Remembering sound and light

are threads of a single cloth

and that in its folds 

there is a holy citadel of peace,

and a limitless domed chamber,

opened by their vibration.

Existing in the space

between the waves,

this infintesimal shimmering, 

spacious presence at the center,

liberates all pain,

all strife.

—Lorena Wolfman 

Coming back home

 Coming back home to my body

traveling down the red cord

from the universe.

The cells of this waterverse

this bipedal ocean

are fed by the firelight 

of all the stars colored flames.

An ancient new found ground 

below my feet 

felt for the first time

silently keeps the mystery of gravity,

holds this living space in form.

The earth that has given birth

to these bones

is assumed, 

life from above and from below

held in this round body

is accepted with joy.

—Lorena Wolfman

like a still drop of dew

 like a still drop of dew

or each drop of rain falling

the body of life

is round

like a pearl or a planet

like a cell 

or a fleeting bubble

and like the ever exploding suns

birthing luminous skies

and like the reflexive moons 

dreaming beyond the darkness

all things orbit

a still deeper source

guided by an invisible force

that loves roundness

—Lorena Wolfman

Hermana mía

hermana mía

igual que en egipto

a través de nuestras voces

hemos pasado el velo

hemos entrado 

la cámara de luz

donde los colores cantan

nuestros cuerpos vibran

hemos entrado el lugar santísimo

hemos abierto la senda

luminosa

entre todo tiempo y espacio

—Lorena Wolfman

***

my sister

just as in egypt

through our voices

we have passed through the veil

we have entered

the chamber of light

where color sings

our bodies become vibration

we have entered the holy of holies

we have opened the path

glowing

between all space all time

—Lorena Wolfman

face of the full moon

 the face of the full moon

is the hand mirror

of the mother of the skies

on still summer nights like this one

she unites lost lovers

transmitting the silent 

fire of their hearts 

across the skies

each lover gazes 

upon the glowing round disk

and knows

someone somewhere 

knows they exist

their hearts grow

becoming radiant

spheres of light 

like the moon

reflecting another star

so that this star

may know it's not alone

someone somewhere 

across the skies

beyond the horizon

knows they exist

this simple knowledge

is a part of becoming

of daring not to perish

to be able to stand

in your own light burning

knowing you exist

—Lorena Wolfman

to stay

 to stay

to linger

awaken

in the emptiness

the gap

between each breath

each particle dancing

each raindrop

between each idea

each thought

releasing into the mystery

where ground and foreground merge

the rose the cloudless sky

the ether that holds them both

the translucent vertiginous fall of the rain

earthward

the crashing wet encounter

between horizontal and vertical planes

releasing the song of creation

—Lorena Wolfman

Following Inanna

 Following Innana

On the outward breath

I descend into a place of formless mystery

I am held inside the earth

inside the waters of the earth

a womb, warm, 

ribcage, chest, becoming soft and pliable, 

undulating bone.

I float with the waters of life, 

heart held in the embrace 

and support of ribcage and diaphragm.

Intimate nourishing dark, 

there's nothing to prove. 

Armor plating having dropped away, 

I fall into the breath's gentle arms, 

the flow of the underground waters,

currents of the heartbeat. 

No need to take on any form to meet the world. 

No need to be a warrior or a queen. 

Deep trust, floating. 

Face and head bowed 

into the spiral mystery of life, 

I am deeply nourished.

—Lorena Wolfman 9/2020

My eyes saw

 [Versión en epañol más abajo]

My eyes saw

for the first time

in this the one and only 

continuous moment

never to be repeated.

God saw through my eyes

and I was transfigured

into the same undulating light

as the whole universe.

Shimmering opening

from the inside 

to the most intimate truth

of who I am.

I called out 

singing in the vibration

of creation.

The tree outside my window

shimmered green 

and dappled light and shadow

the same as my song

the air shimmered

inside me and all around me.

I was a shimmer 

within the shimmer of creation.

I sang, entoned the harmonics

of now, and now, and now

and eternity in the now.

The blue sky witnessed

the dance of molecules

and seeing and song.

This lasted forever in now’s eternity

fulfilling all sight seeing singing

each moment met fully.

Seeing singing each moment 

for the first and only time.

Heart broken open.

And then my eyes closed

and my hands 

spread rainbows 

across the distances,

through the darkness,

rainbows of love

reconciliation

healing

love.

—Lorena Wolfman (8/2020)

---

Mis ojos vieron

por primera vez

en este el único

momento continuo

que nunca se repetirá.

Dios miraba a través de mis ojos

y me transfiguré

en la misma luz ondulante

de todo el universo.

Relumbrando abriéndome

desde el interior

a la verdad más íntima

de quien soy.

Alcé la voz

cantando en la vibración

de la creación.

El árbol fuera de mi ventana

verde refulgente

y luz y sombra moteadas

al igual que mi canto

el aire brillaba

dentro de mí y a alrededor mío.

Yo era un brillo

dentro del brillo de la creación.

Canté, entoné los armónicos

de ahora, y ahora, y ahora

y la eternidad en el ahora.

El cielo azul presenció

la danza de las moléculas

y del ver y cantar.

Esto duró para siempre en la eternidad del ahora

consumada toda mirada al ver al cantar

en el encuentro pleno de cada momento.

Viendo cantando cada instante

por primera y única vez.

Corazón partido.

Y fue entonces que mis ojos se cerraron

y mis manos

difundieron los colores del arcoiris

a través de las distancias,

a través de la oscuridad,

en un arcoiris de amor

reconciliación

sanación

amor.

—Lorena Wolfman (9/2020)

the shadows emerge

 the shadows emerge

from hidden places

under my skin

out of the forgotten horrors 

of my foremothers

lodged in secret crevices

between the bones and the organs

crockodiles fetuses ideologies

broken dreams

kept alive by refusal

the act of not recognizing 

mine theirs yours

My grandmother is your grandmother

What we pretend not to know

about our own grandmothers

silent torture

the silent nightmare— 

the one my grandmother

bore in the bones of her legs

because her legs were strong—

this nightmare is written in our bones

held in our ears

with which we don't want to hear

lodged in the coclear spiral

where the universe should live

and nourish our soul

but we have refused to hear it

until now

now we have been given grace

now we have been given the chance

to hear with our heart

our liver

our belly

our soul

we can hear what they could not speak

what we have dared not admit

but now the old fortresses are crumbling

the only rule is love

—Lorena Wolfman

It came like an ice pick

 It came

like an ice pick

boring into my brain's frontal lobe,

claws tearing at my eyeballs in their sockets.

The migraine comes with nausea,

I know it well.

This time

I will not fear

I will enter the pain fully

I will trust

I will not question

nor push nor shrink away

I will enter the unknown willingly

I will be available with every inch of my being

I will not fear

And all the pain was gone.

All that remained was

deep dark velvet peace

with no beginning nor end

without limits.

Who I was before was gone.

I had fully entered the inner sanctum

leaving everything behind.

The mystery

the prince of peace

was upon me

in full breadth depth power and grace.  

Only the sweet subtle fragrance of deepest origin remained.

—Lorena Wolfman